


The Scourge

by pareidoliajules



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:43:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pareidoliajules/pseuds/pareidoliajules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombies in New York were unexpected enough for Kurt Hummel, but somehow even more surprising was how important the annoying kid in the bowtie would be to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scourge

When Kurt got nervous, he got very quiet. If there’s one thing he’d learned about the people he was trapped with, it’s that there are different ways of handling stress. This one woman, she wouldn’t stop humming. Kurt kind of got that; he could maybe understand singing, but it felt like his vocal chords were frozen. One of the security guards wouldn’t stop talking about his kids. Kurt felt for him, and hoped the kids were okay, but knew they probably weren’t.

And then there was Bowtie Guy. He wouldn’t shut up either, and when his blond friend finally went to sleep, huddled beneath his jacket, Bowtie Guy began to walk around.

It’s not that the walking itself was bad. It was that Bowtie Guy kept making noise. It was probably two in the morning, and most everyone else was asleep, so the only other sounds were muffled screams or gunshots coming from the street below, people trying and failing to get away from The Scourge.

Kurt wanted to try and sleep, but he couldn’t, not when Bowtie Guy was going around and knocking on walls, running his fingers over the windows, leafing through papers like had any business looking at them. He didn’t--none of them had any business being there at all. They’d been rushed into the top floor of one of the many high rise office buildings in NYC when the first Scourge was reported in Midtown and spread from there. They’d gotten news updates for a while, first on the TV in the corner, and then on someone’s phone that could get the radio.

Eventually, that went dark, too. Kurt didn’t know how far The Scourge had gotten, he just knew that it was still happening, and that for the time being, he was still alive.

The first night, he tried to let Bowtie Guy’s annoying nighttime habits go. He tried to cuddle up in his sweatshirt and take up as little space as possible and not think about how gross his skin felt. He fell into an uneasy sleep, metal pipe clenched tight in his right hand like it would stop a Scourge if it was after him. (You never knew.)

The second night, Kurt’s patience was wearing thing. His patience was wearing thin for everything; for the woman and the security guard and the guy who wouldn’t stop pointing out how hungry he was. They were all hungry. They didn’t need the reminder.

Bowtie Guy fell asleep midafternoon and woke up just in time for everyone else to try and get some sleep.

The rat-a-tatting continued.

“Oh my god, can you _stop_ that? Nobody can hear you except the people in this room, and _some_ of us are trying to sleep!”

Bowtie Guy started and instantly drew his hands back to his body. He squinted through the semi-lit room for the source of the voice; Kurt sat up, illuminated by the flickering lights of the city beneath them.

“Sorry,” Bowtie Guy said, softly. One of the other people they were trapped with stirred and muttered for them to shut up; Blaine mumbled another apology and slunk back to his friend, who was snoring near one of the desks. Kurt watched him go, almost felt bad, then reminded himself that there was no time for feeling bad anymore. Not when nobody had a guarantee that they’d be alive come morning.

 

“Listen, I know we’re all hungry,” the security guard was saying, trying to placate the crowd. Kurt, Bowtie Guy and his friend, Blond Guy, were among the few that weren’t chattering or grousing; Kurt was standing some distance away from the crowd, arms crossed across his chest. Bowtie Guy and Blond Guy were closer, but looking considerably more doubtful than the rest of the crowd. “But we can’t risk leaving this room.”

“Why not?” one woman demanded. “There’s probably food hidden here somewhere!”

“The power hasn’t been cut yet,” another man observed. Kurt resisted the urge to snort; the building was probably running on backup generators, and even that wouldn’t last long.

“Look,” the security guard said again. “None of us are going to risk leaving this room.”

“I will,” Kurt said, surprised at his own voice. “There’s been no evidence that those things are in this particular building. I’ll see if I can at least find a vending machine or something.” Kurt picked up the metal pipe from where it had been leaning against the wall and twirled it absently. “If I don’t come back, well, then at least you’ll know for sure.”

“I’ll go with him!” Bowtie Guy said, sounding far too excited for something that may very well be a death mission. “I mean. Can I go with you...um, what’s your name?”

“Kurt,” Kurt answered icily. He didn’t need anyone else risking themselves, but Bowtie Guy was already pulling his overshirt back over his tank top and buttoning it up. Smart; less exposed skin, just in case The Scourge was there.

“Do you have a weapon?”

“Um…” Bowtie Guy frowned and glanced around the room, then dashed over to one of the desks and yanked the phone out of the wall. With the base in one hand and the receiver dangling from its cord in the other, Bowtie Guy smiled. “Yep.”

It was utterly ridiculous, and for the first time in days, Kurt wanted to smile.

“If you’re sure. Um, if we get back, we’ll do...a special knock, so you know it’s us.” Kurt moved toward a desk and tapped out four deliberate beats, one slow, two fast, one slow. “Be ready to let us in, okay? If we’re gone for more than an hour--”

“Make it a half-hour,” the security guard said.

“Okay, if we’re not back in a half an hour, assume we’re not coming back.” Kurt looked to Bowtie Guy. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yep. Let’s go, I’m starving.”

“Hey! Blaine,” Blond Guy said, quickly breaking away from the crowd. “Be careful, okay? Seriously.”

“Woah, Sam--” Bowtie Guy, Blaine, was being crushed in a hug from Blond Guy, Sam, and was carefully hugging back. “Yeah, I will. You too, okay?”

“Yeah. Hey, um, Kurt, right? Make sure he’s careful, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” Kurt answered. He briefly wondered if they were dating, but that wasn’t the point. Their embrace reminded him sharply of Rachel, and how he hadn’t heard anything from her, and how much he wished she was there with him, but how much he was glad she wasn’t. Maybe she was safe.

“Come on,” Kurt said, more to distract himself than anything else. He led the way to the door and began pushing the desks they’d been using to barricade themselves in out of the way. He took one and Blaine got the other, and then the door was clear.

“You ready?” Blaine asked, hands tightening around the phone receiver.

“Sure.” Kurt took a deep breath and opened the door, pipe held tightly in his other hand. Nothing. He let out his breath. “C’mon.” Kurt tipped carefully around the door and let Blaine close them behind him. Everything was silent, and too bright; briefly, he was reminded how absurd this whole thing was--a couple kids, walking around with makeshift weapons in the middle of an office building. Okay.

“I bet there’s a break room somewhere,” Blaine whispered, nearly jolting Kurt out of his skin.

“Yeah!” Kurt said, too loudly. “Yeah,” he repeated. “Um...let’s check this way,” Kurt added, inching down the hallway. They’d at least been rushed into a good room; all the other rooms he could see were deserted conference rooms, made of glass. Nobody would last a second on one of those.

“Can you believe this is happening?” Blaine asked. Kurt shushed him, and he shushed. He really could not stop making noise, could he?

“Hey, look,” Kurt said, pulling to a stop. They had come to a T in the hall, and Kurt could see elevators, the ones they’d taken on the way in. Well, the ones some of them had taken; others had insisted on the stairs, or tried to wait for the elevator to come all the way back. Kurt didn’t want to think about what had happened to them.

In front of the elevators were two vending machines, and Kurt’s stomach rumbled appreciatively. “Let’s see what we can get.” They moved down the hall carefully, always keeping half an eye on the elevators, until they came to a stop in front of the first machine. It was a snack machine; the one next to it held soda.

Without thinking about it, Kurt smashed the glass of the machine with his pipe.

“Kurt!” Blaine hissed, starting away from him when the glass rained down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Kurt grunted, sucking one thumb into his mouth to staunch the bleeding. “I’m just stupid.” With his pipe, he cleared a bigger hole, but slower now, and more directly, so that it ended in a neat pile between his feet. “See if you can get some water out of that one. Only get soda if you can’t get anything else.”

Blaine nodded, then looked doubtfully from the pane of glass to the base of the phone. He was an inch away from banging it against the glass when Kurt stopped him.

“Use this, you’ll only end up with a broken hand if you try that,” Kurt said. “Just give it back, okay?”

“Sure,” Blaine said with a smile. “Thanks.” After that, Blaine made quick work and began to gather water bottles in his arms, while Kurt gathered the snacks that would make them the least dehydrated and most filled.

They went even slower on the way back, because their arms were laden with supplies, Kurt’s hand wouldn’t stop bleeding, and they weren’t as able to defend themselves. They made it back to the room with little issue, gave the secret knock, and were welcomed back--although Kurt thought they were more happy to see the food, given how quick of work they made of it.

One of the women had neosporin and bandaids in her purse, which she gave to Kurt without hesitation for his hands. He thanked her, gathered the two bags of chips they had allotted for him and his bottle of water, and moved back to his place near the window.

To his surprise, Blaine joined him there, blond friend Sam in tow.

“It looks like it’s dying down out there, doesn’t it?” Blaine asked, a note of hope entering his voice. Kurt wouldn’t feel hopeful until he saw his dad safe and sound again and he could start forgetting this had ever happened to him.

“Looks like something’s dying, that’s for sure,” Kurt answered, and didn’t respond when Blaine tried to engage him in conversation again. He didn’t move away from them when Sam and Blaine started to talking, though, and found he kind of missed pleasant background conversation.

Mostly, he just wanted to go home.

 

The little fires that had been popping up all over the city had finally caught. Fire spread from building to building. The only reason Kurt and his fellow refugees had been able to get ahead of it was Blaine’s nocturnality; he’d seen the lights getting closer and woken everybody up when a car in front of the building blew up and spread the flames.

The Scourge didn’t like fire. Kurt wondered if the fires had been set purposefully or not, but he didn’t have much time to wonder anything as he half-fell down twenty-five flights of stairs.

The security guard did actually fall, with a sickening crunch coming somewhere from his leg. Blaine tried to stop and help him, but Sam held him back and the guard himself refused his help.

“Take this,” he said to Kurt, who only appeared at Blaine’s shoulder long enough to understand what was going on. He handed Kurt his gun, which had thus far remained holstered at his side. Kurt took it and held it like it might bite him--he had never fired a gun before. His pipe was held limply in his other hands.

“Can you walk?” Kurt said, swallowing thickly. “We can try to carry--”

“No!” the security guard said. “Get out of here. You’re just kids, oh god, _please_ , get away, take my truck.” He threw the keys at Blaine. “Get as many as you can with you. Please, get away.” He hesitated, then added, “If you see my daughter, please, tell her--”

“We will,” Blaine promised, clasping his hand tightly.

“No--just--just tell her I didn’t die one of them.”

Kurt nodded solemnly, jumping when he heard the crack of fire from somewhere above them. A window breaking.

“C’mon, Blaine. Sam. Come on!” Kurt turned on his heel and ran further down the stairs, refusing to look back, because he could hear Blaine and Sam behind him. They finally broke free of the building and into the parking lot in back; most of the people they’d been trapped with were nowhere to be seen--Kurt spared a thought for them and hoped they were getting somewhere safe.

“Which one’s his--” Kurt began, interrupted by Blaine pointing at an old green SUV whose lights went off when Blaine pressed a button.

“That one,” Blaine answered. “I’ll drive.”

“Do either of you know how to shoot a gun?” Kurt asked as they clambered in.

“I used to go hunting with my dad,” Sam said, just as Blaine got the engine to turn over.

“Tank’s full,” Blaine reported.

“Take this,” Kurt said, handing him the gun carefully. “And keep an eye open.”

Blaine drove them out of the parking lot and away from the fire. Kurt didn’t even know which way they were going, if it was out of the city or further into it, but he didn’t care. For the moment, they were safe.

“I don’t even know his name,” Kurt realized slowly, tears welling in his eyes as he stared at the open road.

“His name was George,” Blaine said, catching Kurt’s eye in the mirror. “His daughter’s name is Yvonne. He showed us pictures.”

Kurt nodded and looked away, out the window, and pulled his legs closer to him.

“He kind of saved our lives,” Sam said, hand tightening on the pistol in his lap.

“Kurt did too,” Blaine said. Kurt could feel his eyes on him again, but couldn’t look at him.

“You’re the one who saw the fire,” Kurt said, without moving.

“Maybe we all saved each other,” Sam said slowly. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agreed. “I think so too.”

 

They drove and slept in shifts, finally breaking out of the city and onto the highway, which was a trap of abandoned cars and litter, everywhere. The driving went slower, then, and every so often they would catch sight of a drifting, lone Scourge. They came to a decision as a team that unless it was directly attacking them, it would be better to leave them alone.

They were somewhere in Connecticut when Kurt finally bucked up his courage. “Are you and Sam dating?” He was driving, and Sam was asleep, sprawled in the back seat, with Blaine in the passenger seat, holding the pistol.

“What? Oh! Oh, no. Sam’s just a friend. I mean--I mean, I am gay, but he’s not. And anyway, he’s not really my type.”

“Oh,” Kurt said, and mercifully, they left it at that.

 

Their car was running on fumes, and every gas station they’d come across was either empty or destroyed; they’d made good progress with it, and had good luck, but it was finally time to start walking.

“Where are we even going?” Kurt asked an hour into their hike, hitching his pipe over his shoulder. Sam was up ahead, keeping the path clear with the pistol. They’d managed to avoid firing it yet--which seemed a small miracle in and of itself.

“Somewhere that’s never heard of The Scourge,” Blaine answered. The first days in the office felt like a lifetime ago. They’d bathed when they could, usually in lakes or streams, sometimes in abandoned farm houses if they found them. They’d also searched those houses for food or bullets, but staying for too long reminded Kurt of those terrible old horror movies, and he always made them move on quickly.

“What happens when we get there?” Kurt pressed. He knew he was being obnoxious, bordering on whiny, but he just--he was tired of it, tired of it all.

Blaine caught his hand, and Kurt’s heart beat an unnatural rhythm. “We figure it out from there.”

Kurt looked at him, wide-eyed, for once at a loss for words.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Kurt answered. Blaine didn’t try to take his hand back, and Kurt was glad for that. He’d almost forgotten what human contact was like, but Blaine’s hand didn’t feel alien or strange--it just felt right, like he’d been holding it all his life.

He squeezed Blaine’s hand gently, who gave him a little squeeze in return.

They would figure it out. They had to. They would figure it out together. They _would_.

 

And so they did. They hiked up to the Canadian border, which had been helping Americans escape since the outbreak; they finally had real showers--several, for Kurt to feel like he got the grime off--and food that hadn’t come in a prepackaged plastic bag. That would have been enough, but when the loudspeaker in the bunker announced that there were five open seats on a boat to France, he only had to glance at Sam and Blaine to know what they were going to do.

The Scourge was largely an American problem, and once the three of them left the country, they didn’t look back. Kurt didn’t need to look anywhere but forward, as long as Blaine’s hand was clasped in his.

  
Once they landed in France and were set up with temporary homes, he tried to track down everyone he could think of. It was a difficult, long, process, but before the year was out, he finally got confirmation that Burt, Carole and Finn had made it out of Ohio long before the Scourge had hit. They were happy out in California, and most importantly, they were safe. He assured them that he was safe and happy too--very happy, he said, as he looked down at the wedding ring glinting on his finger. Very happy, very safe.


End file.
